Thy proper strength, nor give those limbs the lie;
Work, feed thyself, to thine own powers appeal,
Nor whine out woes, thine own right-hand can heal:
And while that hand is thine and thine a leg,
Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg."
"Come, surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view,"
Old Roger said:—"thy words are brave and true;
Come, live with me: we'll vex those scoundrel-boys,
790
And that prim shrew shall, envying, hear our joys.—